


The White Frost

by Filigranka



Category: Chronicles of Amber - Roger Zelazny
Genre: Childhood shenanigans, Gen, POV First Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-18
Updated: 2016-12-18
Packaged: 2018-09-09 08:54:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,183
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8884741
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Filigranka/pseuds/Filigranka
Summary: Corwin and Deirdre went on a trip with Clarissa. It went just as well as you'd expect it.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Aeriel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aeriel/gifts).



> Happy Yuletide, Aeriel! They're not setting their stepmother on fire here, but I hope it's close enough!
> 
> Many thanks for K. for being my beta!

It isn’t so hard, walking in the Shadow. Of course, you need to be an Amberite and to have made a few not so easy steps on the Pattern, but after that… 

 “Precise” is probably the most difficult part of the whole process. One didn’t want to end in a chasm or some other inhabitable – or even just uncomfortable – place. At least not usually.

I know you know all that, Merlin. I just need the grand prologue to every story.  I need words and words to get me to the right mood, right place and time. Indulge me, while I’m coming ad rem.

At that time we very deliberately chose to go to an unpleasant world. It was a chilly, harsh, unforgiving place. There weren’t any dangers, or so we thought then and so I still think now. We didn’t have time to define such details . We created – found – that Shadow out of sudden spite. It was just a stupid, childish, careless prank. We mostly improvised our way through it.

Me and Deirdre were barely old enough to do Shadow-walking – we Amberites generally take our sweet time to mature. What is half century when you have all eternity? We might have been old enough to have gone through the Pattern – Deirdre in an age younger than min e, for she was a fast learner and our spoiled princess and father couldn’t deny her anything then – but we acted like children. Maybe because we truly were still children.

What exactly did we do? Well, I’m less proud of it now, now that I’m an adult and a father… Please, don’t give me that look, Merlin, I do care about you - but if you insist – oh, you _do_ insist? Just as I thought you might.

Father decided that we, Deirdre and I, being the rebellious kind of children we were, should spend some quality time with Clarissa and the redheads – you know, her kids. To form some  familial bonds, cultivate love, something like tha. Yeah, I know, I know. But father had ideas like this when his pedagogical muse struck him.

Clarissa was just as happy as we were about this. Which is my typical euphemistic way of saying she was literally furious. Perhaps father subconsciously had wanted to punish her – they had been on terrible terms for a while; it was during his affair with Lady Moins, Llewella’s mother – and had decided we were the best torture device he could have unleashed on her.

Subconsciously, of course. Or so I hope .

Either way, we were left with Clarissa, her children, and a whole cortège of nannies – father wasn’t that irresponsible – in a safe, warm meadow in some cosy Shadow. A calm, lazy river flowed nearby. The trees were heavy with delicious fruit. A kind of paradise, truly. Perfect for some family bonding.

We were at each other’s throats constantly. Snarling, shouting, yelling, scoffing, scowling, glaring with irritation, riposting to every - even the most neutral - sentence with venom, spitting in each other’s drinks... Anything you could think of, we did.

We considered our verbal retorts brilliant, of course. Today I’m a little more critical of how I behaved  – sometimes sarcasm isn’t the answer to everything – but either way, Clarissa was equally badly behaved. She played the poor, oppressed, gravely offended lady with great aplomb and even greater passion. I don’t remember what exactly she did to offend us in turn. She might have raised her voice at us (though now I feel for her; by the Unicorn how I feel for her now) and we decided she hadn’t any right to. She wasn’t Amberite, after all: she was just a woman from some Shadow, like so many others. Our father had been taking them in like they were stray dogs. Our mother excepted, of course.

Before you tell me what you think about me and Deirdre: I know. Believe me, I know. We were young and stupid. I’m sure your inner hall of shame is full of things you did as a boy. Your mother told me about... Well, yes, of course we talked. Sometimes. I spent decades imprisoned in my own shrine. I wasn’t exactly picky with my acquaintances.  As for me, Deirdre and Clarissa— ah, but you just want me to leave your childhood crimes alone, don’t you?

Call yourself lucky, for I pride myself on being a generous and forgiving father. And I love a good story, especially when I’m the one telling it.

So, Deirdre and I set our minds to punishing Clarissa for her great  crime of existing. We started by manipulating a Shadow, just a little, to open a narrow path. We went walked down it. Clarissa immediately ordered us to come back. We didn’t listen. She shouted, trying to persuade us to return, and eventually came after us.

She was afraid. If she had gone back to Amber without us, she would undoubtedly have been punished. She was probably concerned about the fate of her children. They would have survived our father’s fury, but Eric, even at that time, was already a formidable duellist. And our relationship, while far from perfect, hadn’t already escalated to the point of actively trying to murder each other, so he might be inclined to seek the revenge on her and her kids, if only because he would have though he ought to. 

She left her children with the nannies and came after us. Why? Like I said, she was afraid. Or, if I’m reading your look right, maybe _you_ think it was because she was a responsible adult and that it was the right thing to do.

Every step carried us – and her – deeper and deeper into the Shadows. It was like a  twisted, reversed fairytale: children leading their step-mother into danger and darkness.

As we walked, the air got colder, trees branches turned thorny , the grass withered. Step by step we went. The manipulations we cast were small, but constant; it was easier that way, especially for a pair as inexperienced as us.

Clarissa shouted and shouted, at first ordering, then asking, then finally pleading. We, being the young bastards we were, didn’t listen to her; we just went on and on, finding – making – more and more unpleasant Shadows.

When we _did_ stop, it wasn’t out of pity for her. We simply got tired. And bored. Bored, mostly. We glanced at each other and then, without saying a word, ran in two different directions. Clarissa was left, in her lovely cream-yellow summer dress, in the middle of the wilderness. There was a thin layer of white frost silvering the ground, and snow was slowly falling from the sky.

She looked for us for a while, but didn’t leave that ghostly meadow where we’d left her. Smart move. She might not have ever found a way back.

We didn’t run far, either; we just hid in the bushes. Our excitement and the Pattern in our blood kept us from feeling cold. We wanted to watch her running in circles, panicking, shouting, cursing. We wanted to watch her  plead with us again. She did all of that, although I must admit she hid her panic quite well. She tried to make it sound more like she was bargaining than begging. You know, things like “come back in the next five minutes and I won’t tell Oberon a word. It’ll be our little secret, you ever-scheming scions of Chaos!”

She knew how to praise an Amberite, I’ll give her that. She was a clever woman. It’s a shame she had met my father.

What...? Did Clarissa cry? No, she didn’t weep. If she had, we might have stopped, or so I choose to believe. She had Oberon’s Trump with her, yes, but she didn’t use it. Maybe she was afraid how he’d react if she did. Or maybe her pride prevented her from turning to him for help – she had always been too proud for her own good. No, you shouldn’t be proud as a queen of Amber, not really; you should just know how and when to pretend. Pride is reserved for those who have the Pattern and Unicorn in their blood.

She didn’t call, but Benedict did. He called us via a Trump and didn’t say a word, no “hello”, “time’s up”, “game over”, nothing. He just gave us his best stern look and extended his hand.

We didn’t hesitate for a second. We had learnt to obey Benedict long before we’d even learnt to read. We took his hand and pulled him to us.

The temperature’s change made him shudder. He still didn’t say a word, just put a hand on our shoulders. We went still.

‘Clarissa!’ he exclaimed. ‘I’m here. Don’t worry, I’ve found them!’

You see, the worst thing was she really did seem genuinely relieved when she heard we were safe. Even the young and stupid prick I was could see and recognise that.

But it was a momentary emotion; it flickered over her face and then was immediately replaced by icy rage. She stormed in our direction, beautiful dress now all dirty, hair completely ruined, lips thinned into a line.

‘Thank you,’ she nodded at Benedict. I’m not sure I’ll ever possess the level of regal dignity she managed to put into that gesture.

‘Would you mind coming back to Amber with me, Your Highness? It’s almost time for dinner and, I assure you, many would find a meal lacking your presence an ordeal most sad, boring and disappointing. They would be too heartbroken to manage even the smallest portions, and you know, Your Highness, how sensitive our chefs are– seeing the dishes returned untouched might distress them.’

‘I can’t have that,’ Clarissa smiled at him, now pleasant and warm, like flames in a fireplace. ‘Not with the annual summer ball so close. I would like to return, yes. I find your aid most welcome and thank you for it.’

Yeah, we usually used less formal language. But Clarissa had been a princess in her own realm and Benedict had spent decades on various courts in some less important Shadows performing trivial diplomatic missions and proving his loyalty to his father. Trying to avoid the fate of his brothers, essentially.

Point is, we all knew how to talk like that: high-born and proud. We knew how to use it and we knew what it meant. At that time it was clear and simple: Deirdre and I were in trouble. Benedict had backed up Clarissa, Clarissa had accepted this alliance and not-quite-apology, and if we tried to object we would be on our own with the whole family united against us.

We, of course, felt terribly betrayed. Clarissa wasn’t one of _us_ , wasn’t an Amberite! Her children were all arrogant and treacherous, looking down on us from their high horses just because of their book-knowledge, trying to turn Dworkin against us. And now they were trying to take our brother, too!

I am aware it’s not the most mature line of thinking. But, you see, when one lives in the shadow of Amber, steeped in its schemes, drinking from fountains of betrayal, running high on stories of duels and – most of all – our father’s approval... When one lives like that, strange things happen to one’s mind,  to put it mildly. I imagine The Courts are similar.

Eric pulled us all back to the castle. Benedict and Clarissa he took gently; me and Deirdre – not so much. We landed with a big thud and almost lost a tooth or two. We shot him a murderous glare. He ignored it and delivered apologies to  Clarissa, thanks to Benedict, and cover stories to the nannies. All the witnesses had to have their stories in order in that very unlikely case that father asked questions about our grand family trip.

Eric always seemed a little…. A _little_ more mature than the rest of us, I admit it now. He had lived in court for a while as a bastard child of a mistress, not a queen. I think that might have been part of it. Life must not have been easy for him.

As it turned out, Benedict’s intervention should have been credited to ours nannies, the one sent with us on that ill-fated picnic. They’d grown bored, irritated, anxious – one way or another, they called Benedict. Benedict, not our father. They were old, experienced women. Women who knew our family well, and who didn’t want to make the situation worse.

‘I don’t know what I expected.’ Eric put a palm on his forehead in a dramatic gesture; he looked like someone taken straight from some chanson de geste. ‘That my little brother and sister would have acted with some modicum of maturity considering they’re just the tender age of ten... Oh, wait. You two _aren’t_ ten anymore. You’re adult enough to walk in Shadow, as you just proved. Perhaps the problem here doesn’t lie in my unrealistically high expectations.’

I would very much have liked to cut him with some sharp retort, wipe out the smile I sensed behind his words. But Benedict’s eyes fell upon me, heavy and righteous. His gaze demanded silence. I obeyed.

Deirdre didn’t. ‘The only problem here is  standing right before my eyes.’

‘You mean _I_ am the problem?’ Benedict’s attempt at thwarting the argument sounded tired, mostly.

‘I mean the one who thinks he is in any position to expect things from Corwin and me. The one who _usurps_ our father’s place—‘

‘Enough.’ Benedict now sounded tired and irritated.

‘Usurps father’s place as a person to rebuke us, I mean. But whistle and the dogs—’ 

‘You shouldn’t spend so much time in Corwin’s company, sister dear. He’s a bad influence on you.’ Eric looked at her with a concern.

I thought he was just being sarcastic  on his part, then. Now... I’m not so sure. I think maybe he had some hopes for Deirdre and wanted to sway her to his side. Perhaps she reminded him of our mother.

‘Pardon me...?’ Deirdre blinked. ‘If you must know, it was all _my_ idea! Corwin just played along because he wanted to please me.’

I protested, of course. Say what you want about me, but even my foes admit I’m hilariously chivalrous. I protested _very_ loudly.

Eric laughed, but he ignored me and kept talking to Deirdre. ‘Somehow I doubt it. Never mind, never mind.’ He raised his hand in a placating gesture. ‘I was talking about your newfound fondness of useless poetics, allusions and word-charades, which is unmistakably Corwin's trait. But it’s as you said, whistle and the dogs will holler.’ 

He was still smiling when I hit him. I’d aimed for his face, but Benedict tried to grab me and my punch landed on Eric’s chest instead. He wasn’t wearing a chain-mail or anything like it, but he dressed in at least five layers of the finest materials. As you can imagine, the blow – the slap, to be honest – didn’t impress him much.

Benedict’s grabbed my arm and pulled me back. I didn’t dare to struggle, not against him. Eric laughed and I wished Amberites glares could kill as well as our curses.

‘He offended the lady !’ I screamed. ‘He doubted her words! I demand he apologise!’

‘ _I_ demand it, too,’ added Deirdre. Her tone was dripping with cold amusement.

‘I demand you two stop acting like a children,’ hissed Benedict.

‘And I advise you stop wasting your time with the company of losers, sister dear,’ chimed in Eric cheerfully. ‘By which, to be precise, I mean the ones who can’t even land a honest punch in the defence of a lady’s honour.‘

‘I don’t need others to fight for me. I have my axe for that.’ Deirdre raised her chin. ‘And Corwin is my legal  brother. How could I leave him?’

What a sweet sister she was!! Sweet, clever, and always aiming straight for the heart.  Unless in battle, when she generally preferred going for the head. Eric paled, his jaw visibly tensing,  then turned on his heel and stormed out the door .

We were left with Benedict. The ensuing silence was heavy and almost tangible.

‘Father was always abnormally soft on you,’ he sighed finally, sounding exasperated. ‘On all of you.’ He shot a glance at the door. ‘You lost your mother when he still loved her; he understood your grief and indulged you. Rara avis.’ He smiled, but there was no warmth in it. ‘That’s why you don’t understand...’ He shook his head. ‘But you ought to, _now,_ unless you want to die a glorious death on a battlefield in some backwater Shadow .’

My laughter in response was a bark. Deirdre’s teeth flashed between her rosy lips as she scowled.

‘Father would not choose one of his women above us,’ I said with conviction. ‘We are the Amberites.’

‘And he definitely would not choose a bastard over his legitimate children,’ added Deirdre cheerfully. ‘I mean, if he loved Eric so much, he would officially recognise him, wouldn’t he?”

Benedict laughter was, in turn, long and bitter. Then he stepped close and struck us on the face; first me, then Deirdre. Her eyes widened in shock

We really were spoiled at the time. Benedict was right about that.

‘My  brothers thought the same. You endangered the queen and your siblings, Oberon’s children and Dworkin’s favourites. You made some powerful enemies today. Be grateful a slap to the face is all you have to show for it. And thank the Unicorn it was _me_ , and not Clarissa, who did it. Oh – and I advise you _not_ to miss the dinner.’ Then he left without a good-bye,  leaving us startled and alone.

We did go to dinner. We were excruciatingly well-behaved. Clarissa was beautiful and unshaken, sitting near father. She did not speak to him at all, and bore the looks everybody shot her with cold dignity.. Pitiful. Vicious. Triumphant. Redheads, being considered children, ate at the different table then. But they’d probably found a way to slip into kitchen and poison our wine or food somehow, for me and Deirdre felt sick in the middle of the evening and had to go to our bedrooms early. The sickness didn’t pass by the morning and we spent a good few days in our bed feeling ashamed and miserable. Benedict visited us sometimes; he restrained himself from preaching, but he didn’t have to say a word. We knew he knew and were deeply humiliated. Clarissa sent some herbs and recipes for dishes that were used to cure stomach-sickness in her Shadow.

Well, they might have effective medicines, but they certainly tasted awful and our nurses forced them down both our throats. Father even thought Clarissa’s help was very gracious. The redheads always were the cunning ones.

And that’s how our grand prank ended. Rather mundanely, come to think of it. Look at my life and the “ruling Amber” ambition! We might be Amberites, and yet we are not so different from these Shadows we mock as we passed between them. The joke is on us, always.


End file.
